Husam Abukhedeir, a Palestinian neurosurgeon, left his native Gaza for the United Arab Emirates last November because he felt that the conditions created by the war had stripped him of his authority as a doctor — and endangered his family. Nearly nine months have passed, and Abukhedeir sees no end to his suffering.
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Husam Abukhedeir, a Palestinian neurosurgeon, left his native Gaza for the United Arab Emirates last November because he felt that the conditions created by the war had stripped him of his authority as a doctor — and endangered his family. Nearly nine months have passed, and Abukhedeir sees no end to his suffering.
Christopher Pike for NPR/Christopher Pike for NPR
In February, NPR published the story by Husam Abukhedeir, chief Palestinian neurosurgeon at Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza. When war broke out following Hamas’ October 7 attack on Israel, he spent nearly two months tending to critically wounded Palestinians, rationing care—in essence, choosing who lived and who died amid shortages of medical supplies and fuel.
His wife and five young children, including a then six-month-old baby, moved in with him in a single room at the hospital after they felt their home had become unsafe due to Israeli air strikes.
When Israeli forces surround Al-ShifaAbukhedeir believed his family was in danger and realized that he could not serve his patients due to a lack of medical resources. So he made the difficult decision to leave his hometown with his young family – using their foreign passports to make the trip.
NPR caught up with Abukhedeir to see how he’s been since leaving the region for Egypt and then the United Arab Emirates.
The last time NPR spoke with Abukhedeir, it had been just a month since he left Gaza. The physical exhaustion and emotional scars of the death and injury he faced as chief neurosurgeon at the enclave’s largest medical complex were still fresh. But there was still passion –– and hope –– in his voice.
But now, he says, he is “alive but not living.”
Nearly nine months have passed, and Abukhedeir sees no end to the suffering. This has dampened his spirits, he says. He still believes that one day he will return to rebuild and serve his community. But that, he says, would be “nothing short of a miracle.” And he doesn’t know how many of his family members in Gaza are still alive.
“All we have left is to pray to God for this suffering to end,” he said.
And when the phone rang, he feared it would be bad news about his elderly parents or one of his siblings still living in Gaza.
“I wanted to check on my family but when they were the ones calling me, I was worried they would tell me someone had died,” he said.
Since Abukhedeir left Gaza, he sometimes feels regret and guilt for leaving his family and patients behind.
“But I thank God that leaving Gaza was God’s plan for me,” he said. “It saved me from this genocide and means that I can still help my family and patients even though I am abroad through telemedicine consultations and financial support.” (The Israeli government has strongly denied allegations that it has violated the genocide convention.)
Although he had previously obtained a medical license in the UAE, it took four months of waiting and paperwork for Abukhedeir to be allowed to practice at a private medical center in the city of Al-Ain.
“It’s very expensive here. There are a lot of school fees. Housing is expensive,” he said. “We’re burning through our savings.”
Their new life was promising: like in Gaza, the main language was Arabic, there were great places for his children to go, and a few restaurants serving familiar Middle Eastern food. But he had no appetite for any of it.
“My wife and I go out just to create a good environment for the kids,” he said.
Abukhedeir has lost much of what he held dear in Gaza: his home, his clinic, and dozens of friends, colleagues, and family. The latest to die was his sister, Dalia, who he said died of untreated burns covering three-quarters of her body in October after an Israeli airstrike. Abukhedeir’s 22-year-old nephew, Dalia’s son, was also severely burned but still lives with his injuries. Abukhedeir tried to get him out of Gaza to seek urgent medical treatment, but to no avail.
Abukhedeir said he lost his right ear, could not use his leg normally because he needed physical therapy, and could not move his arms due to contractures, a complication that causes burn scars to develop, harden and thicken, preventing movement of the affected area. The situation weighed heavily on him.
“He was one of the most hardworking young men in the family. He was a third-year computer science student at university. He loved his job and was full of passion and energy,” Abukhedeir said. “All that is gone. He can’t use his hands to work on the computer. And it breaks my heart that I can’t do anything about it.”
Abukhedeir’s elderly parents are still in northern Gaza and he has not been able to get them out yet. They have live on canned food for months without any fresh produce, he said.
“It has been a long time since they have seen fresh meat, chicken, fruit or vegetables,” he said.
Start from scratch
Before the war, Abukhedeir and his family lived a comfortable life in Gaza. He was at the height of his career as a neurosurgeon with a busy clinical practice and about 14 neurosurgical trainees to mentor at Al-Shifa Hospital and the European Hospital in southern Gaza.
Husam Abukhedeir appeared on Thursday at his home in Al Ain, United Arab Emirates, where his family currently lives.
Christopher Pike for NPR
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Husam Abukhedeir appeared on Thursday at his home in Al Ain, United Arab Emirates, where his family currently lives.
Christopher Pike for NPR
In his new job in the UAE, he had to start from scratch. He needed to make a name for himself and build a referral system.
He is working hard for his family. But it is not easy.
He said the feeling of grief was overwhelming both him and his wife.
He doesn’t let his children watch the news for fear that the traumatic images will affect them, but when they’re not around, he and his wife will turn on the TV. “It’s unbearable. But we can’t really turn our backs on it,” he said.
The children are resilient but still healing. They seem shaken every time they recall what they endured in Gaza, Abukhedeir said. He added that they thank God they are safe but feel sad and worried about their families who are still there.
The children are just starting to get used to their new school, make friends and live a normal life.
“Even though my wife and I are now just lifeless bodies, we still smile and want our child to have a life like any child deserves,” he said.
As for the medium or long term plan, Abukhedeir said he is taking it one day at a time.
“I felt paralyzed,” he said. “I couldn’t think or make any plans until the war was over.”
Farah Yousry is the managing editor of Side effects of public mediaa health reporting collaboration of NPR member stations across the Midwest, based in WFYI in Indianapolis. Previously, she reported for BBC News Arabic radio and television on various stories in the United States. She also worked as a journalist in Egypt, where she covered the Arab Spring.
